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Transcript:Property Law and Vampyres.
My goodness, Wintumber was a busy time, but now I'm free to lay back, kick my, err, chin up, and wait for the balmy summer. Well, I would, but I have a job to do, and RuneScape's postal service is second to none! This month, I've been delivering letters to some very odd individuals, as well as your favourite shapeless object of unknown origin: the Chaos Elemental. ---- Dear Cybi3, It is kind that you remember us, Cybi3. In this blood-caked age of greed and idolatry, where the covetous skulk in the shadows, your letter comes as a blast of fresh air. Forced, as we are, to breathe the sulphur and rotten demon-breath of our chosen hiding-place, we rarely get any fresh air at all, so we thank you for it. Ah, the reply. Firstly, you ask if we have had contact with the great Armadyl. Alas, we have not. We do not desire to have our faith reaffirmed by reappearances; we leave these to the lesser gods and their heathen followers. Armadyl, in his stead, leaves us with tokens of his greatness. We protect them like the great aviantese did before us: with our lives. Demons, adventurers and...I am reluctant to form the syllables...the 'Mahjarrat', can break our bones, but they will not break our faith. As for Armadyl on RuneScape, well, we have differences of opinion. Amongst us we have Corporealists, who believe that he is still with us; that the morning dew are tears formed for his beloved aviantese, and the sun burns with his rage at their death. The Incorporealists believe he left RuneScape at the end of the God Wars, observing life and awaiting to see which path it chooses. His Staff does remain, however. With luck, and the courage of my brethren, this Staff will never fall into the sweaty palms of evil again. At the present we continue to guard the Staff, as you say. We also train our children to become Guardians (custom states that they begin by looking after the Steak Knives of Armadyl), which takes up much of our time. Also, we have brethren abroad, looking for future hiding-places for the Staff. Lucien watches, as do his minions. We cannot let them within a whisper of such a weapon. Yours, Armacus, Guardian of Armadyl Dear Peasant, While I cannot expect you to understand the magnitude of my fame and my greatness, I shall try anyway. In previous years I led a band of 'Merry Men', who were not drunkards and criminals, regardless of what you might have read. My fame is too great for my enemies to paint me as a villain, but they have been able to make me look less virtuous. As leader of my Merry Men, I was often called upon to defeat some evil or another, and I have on many occasions slain terribly powerful demons. These demons were, of course, mighty enough to tear you to pieces without even risking breaking a nail or getting indigestion, but they fell to my arrows in much the same way that common rats probably die under your axe. I once had a painter in my Merry Men, Nigel, and he was good enough to paint a portrait of me heroically defeating a horde of demons, a reproduction of which I include here: I rather like how majestic I am, and how obvious it is that I am the most handsome, debonair and charming hero of all time. Yours &c., Sir Robin Hood, the Greatest Archer of All Time. Expensive Fasameat, Wait in the Shadow Realm: you are not of the blood nor sin. Up north the wind blows cold to Lumbridge and Ardougne, works like clockwork. Surok's gone to Chaos - lo, ladling Kirk: rumble in the library! Buy your tickets now. Way down deep where the frosts are clearing, way down deep where the dead are still fighting. Meanwhile, back in the caves, a blotched lord's inns eat exotic food and all that jazz. In the basement of the tower of life you'll find the homunculus; he's crossing a lobster with a jubbly! A spider with a sardine! A newt with a rooster! It's all underground, where there's a hole in my pocket. Pockets? The Chaos Elemental has no need for pockets! Teal Chameleons Ho there, me hearty Scratchlax, Ol' Cracked Jenny's Tea Cup, me trusty parrot, he be glad to hear that ye be likin' him. Jack o' Cups! The arena under me shack? Ye be rememberin' that I didn't build it, I just found it while diggin' fer treasure one day. The spikes ain't my idea, though I be rather likin' the way they do look. All glistenin', like treasure, an' pointy, like a mighty cutlass. Always fancied a hook meself, many interestin' things ye can be doin' with a hook like that. Sawdust...just be makin' me think o' the grog-house floor fer soakin' up the spillages. All I be needin' to soak up is adventurer blood an' that be dryin' fairly quickly in the lava. Addin' sawdust would just make it a fire 'azard and I'd 'ave the 'Dungeon Safety Inspectors' on me like a tonne o' good shot. The additional fiery death might be somethin' to add excitement to me shindigs that I be holding down there in the off hours. May the wind be in ye sails an' ye mizzenmast strong, Cap'n Izzy Belalan8, YOU voke me for ZIS? Sending a messenger who haz no veins, blood or even an ear to nibble on iz bad enough, but ZIS? I am velling up viz rage! ...Oooh, my beating heart...vot did my therapist say? Count when you're angry, Count. Okay, okay. Von, two, three, four... Phew! Ze issue at hand. Well, Belalan8, it seems ve have a problem. It iz called 'vespect'. Have you heard of it, you vicked boy? Ze youth of today, honestly. Vandering into my abode, killing Betsy under ze stairs and poisoning my piranhas - I should tell your mother! Vell, I suppose I should be veplying to you, young vippersnapper. Ze answer to both your questions iz simple. This iz my holiday home. I am only vesting here for ze moment, before I veturn. It doesn't feel much like a holiday, I can tell you – every veek I am voken by ze stink of garlic and another unvelcome adventurer. It iz bad for ze heart. Anyvays, I must leave you now, vatbag. I have two scientists taking up vesidence and they vill not stop zer incessant hammering! Ow, I must calm! Von, two, three, four... Yours vickedly, Count Draynor. Cloudcat2, My gnome troops have decimated every major target on the battlefield; Khazard's troopers don't know what hit them - we do: it was our mighty catapults and ballistas! Our mounted terrorbirds have pecked our enemies blind so well, we've not yet required the use of the new Armoured Tortoise Regiment - I might set Dobbie on them soon, though, as he's getting a bit restless! Recent events, especially those of a passing adventurer, have seen our village defences restored to full strength, meaning we can soon launch an all out attack and run General Khazard's army out for good. Until we are ready to launch our attack, we shall continue to employ our ‘Lunge, Block, Chop, Block, Slash, Block, Chop, Block’ strategy, which seems to be keeping the enemy at bay. And yes, indeed, my own armour is made of tortoise shell, which I am informed is the hardest natural substance known to gnome. It's so strong it will support any number of fiendish weapons, gnome archers and mages and devices of extreme pain, death and punishment – nothing shall stop the overpowering might of my battle tortoises. Nothing! Gnome losses have been minimal. Those casualties you do see on the battlefield are more likely to be Khazard's spies disguised as gnomes, sent to infiltrate our village - a trick achieved by them dressing in green and walking on their knees, but one that I can spot a mile off. There is nothing to fear. Our lands are safe. Yours gnomically, Lieutenant Schepbur, SGG Griffin 3542, My troopers have obliterated every major target on the battlefield. The gnomes like to suggest that their terrorbirds are a genuine threat to my impregnable forces… the truth is that the slow, bumbling delicate vertebrates have been brought to the very brink of extinction! And we need not worry about any ‘Armoured Tortoise’ regiment. Those giants move so slowly, we shall be long gone by the time they arrive. Recent events have revealed to me that it is only a matter of time before I run the gnomes into the ground and away from my lands for good. I have also received reports that a division of my army has occupied a large portion of ground to the south, almost securing the main bridge. In strategic terms, we are employing a ‘Block, Chop, Block, Slash, Block, Chop, Block, Lunge,’ tactic. We have suffered minimal losses, and the casualties of war that you see littering the plains of the battlefield will almost certainly be gnomes, or (as recent reports have suggested) two gnomes standing one atop the other, under a cloak, disguised as one of my cruel warriors. Do not worry, though: these impostors are always caught. To say that their disguises are awful would be an enormous understatement. There is nothing to fear. Victory is assured. Yours patriotically, General Khazard P.s. Any references to the mission ‘search and destroy’ will now be replaced by the phrase, operation ‘sweep and clear’! Wise Old Jokes Draynor's most famous aged person has been collecting jokes for years - some he made up himself, others he found in some old Wintumber party trinkets. These are just a few of his favourite jokes. Please laugh, he thinks they're really, really funny. Why do Menaphites dip biscuits in their tea? To sophan'em. What does Zamorak wear when it rains? A Zanorak. Why did the Evil Chicken cross the road? To KILL you, FILTHY BEAKLESS SCUM! Which resident of Pollnivneach keeps getting away with crimes? Ali Bi Why doesn't Aubury ever go to the Blue Moon pub? Because there isn't any rune at the inn. Where do ogres go to vent their frustration? The Rantz forum. Why did the Chaos Elemental cross the road? Crying space chinchompas. 37. Flump. Guthix decides that he wants entertaining one morning, having spent years asleep. Being all-powerful, he teleports a melee warrior, a wizard and a ranger into a music room on his dimensional plane. From the next room he booms: "I want you to choose an instrument, come in to see me and then play me the best tune you know. If you please me then I will let you live. First, I will hear the warrior play". Afraid, the melee warrior looks down at the table and chooses one of three instruments: a harp. The other two wait for him in the music room until, five minutes later, he comes back. "Phew", he said, "I played some slap-harp with a tinge of jazz, and he really liked it". "Now I will hear you, wizard, with your chosen instrument". The wizard looks down, picks up some bongos and goes next door. Five minutes later, she too comes back, relief on her face. "I played a slowed-down version of the RuneScape theme with a few pyrotechnics. He couldn't get enough of it." "Ranger. I will hear you now". The ranger panics, grabs the remaining instrument and runs into the room. Three minutes later, a massive explosion shakes the door and smoke pours into the room. A pathetic scream rings out. A few seconds later Guthix himself wanders into the room. "Sorry, guys, I had to kill him. He was really bad and blamed it all on the triangle."